The Mighty Will Fall
by Eucleia
Summary: His exhausted heart and stubborn tenderness for her told him that he was human. Her aching chest and guilty weaknesses told her that she loved him. A series of rivamika oneshots and drabbles that I've decided to dump here because I have too many. Should be updated weekly.
1. Exhausted

**Author's Note: Because I can never resist writing about these two powerhouses, I've decided to dump my rivamika/levimika drabbles and oneshots here. **

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**Disclaimer: I do not own any of the published stories or characters I write about in my own work, nor do I make any profit from my writing.**

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There was no other word to explain the maelstrom of swirling emotions that thundered in his chest, gripping his heart in such a tight hold that sometimes it refused to decrease its quickening thudding.

Euphoria blended with perplexity, desire fused with dereliction. His mind was lost in such turmoil it hurt to think, hindering his ability to control his actions and words.

Because all it allowed him to do was flip through flashbacks, images, unspoken feelings for her, causing his forsaken heart to beat that much faster, that much hotter, for something he had never known. He was usually so guarded and composed, face never belying any sort of weakness or doubt, and always the cold and apathetic soldier he was accustomed to being.

Until suddenly he found he couldn't hold the façade anymore. It could have happened in these past six years, a few days, the seconds it took for him to glance at her in desperate yearning.

Was this how _normal_ people felt when they engaged in that inconvenient intensity they called _love_? Was it natural to have these irrational thoughts and cumbersome outbursts of affection?

He supposed he would never really know.

But for some reason, his body welcomed the new sensations that flowed through it every time she grabbed his sleeve, snapped at his uncouth comments, raced him through the stone streets during military leave. And yet all he could manage was a smirk and a raised eyebrow that silently chided her: _Oh, Ackerman. You never were one to be compliant_. When what he really wanted to do was feel her muscled form flush against his own bare skin, their heat stifling each other to the point of suffocation, and their passion finally released in a gale of kicked sheets and rough kisses, drowning him in a primal frenzy.

But she would just quirk her mouth into a crooked smile and softly shake her head in the tiniest movement, warning him to control his inexperienced ardor lest they be found out. And he would have no choice but to incline his head in solemn defeat, acknowledging her never-ending acumen that pissed him off so much he wished he had never developed a heart.

Because it was tiring.

Every night, they bade each other veiled farewells until the morning, their fingers dancing across the other's face so delicately that it soothed upon the lightest contact and stung when they parted. As he lay in bed, he found that sleep wasn't as satisfying as it had been, and he would wake up with a burning chest, cursing her name for making him feel foolish. And though he was comforted by the fact that he knew she was waking up feeling the same way, he pitied them, knowing it was impossible to reveal their clandestine affair while the war still continued.

But his exhausted heart and stubborn tenderness for her told him that he was human.

And he reveled in the notion of finally having someone to call his own.


	2. Antithesis

**WARNING: Contains _slight _portrayals of self-harm. _Please do not read if you are uncomfortable with it. _**

**Author's Note: A bit of depression because I wasn't feeling very well earlier in the week. The next one I post will be happier. I promise :) **

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On the outside, she was every bit the composed and enigmatic soldier she was known to be and praised for.

But on the inside, she was slowly crumbling into soft powder to be blown to the wind, never to be whole again.

On the outside, her face would betray no stray slips of emotion, hard as stone, and even more difficult to crack with eloquent words.

But on the inside, behind her impeccable mask, her brain was deteriorating into a black hole, sucking any shred of confidence she had left in that once-brilliant palace she used to call her conscience.

On the outside, her eyes continued to sparkle and gleam with every exhilarating conquest outside the Walls. No one bothered to realize that her dark orbs had only beamed from the invigoration, and slight competition, that ensued when he had been in her presence, and never questioned why she suddenly developed a persistent blinking problem in the past month.

But on the inside, she cried herself to sleep every night, wondering how she had let it get this far, and knowing she wouldn't be able to recover, even with the passing days. Every time she closed her door, agony managed to steal through the shrinking crack, mocking her inability to salvage her dignity and move on, and she offered no resistance.

On the outside, her arms and legs moved through orders and commands as if they still knew the purpose behind them, automatically obeying anything the Commander murmured in her direction. Sometimes they would unconsciously advance through an ingrained procedure, performing a delicate set of motions that could only be described as caressing by any onlooker. No one would be in front of her.

But on the inside, her usual tense and quick muscles were sluggish and heavy, all energy drained from the cells. And she felt limp from the massive weight beating down on her shoulders that only lifted when she dreamt of him and his cynical voice, sneering at her tragic love, but never denying it.

On the outside, her voice never wavered. It was still the same strong and heartening delivery she'd had for the past nine years, inflections always hinting at something more than encouragement. Ever since she'd known him.

But on the inside, the quivering mass of tissue that was now her heart struggled to barely continue its futile efforts, forcing life's wine through her constricted veins and refusing to surrender its weak hold over her lifeless body. She had no one to give it to now anyway.

On the outside, the thick fabric of her clothes protected her from the prying eyes of teammates, and she rejoiced in that at least she was still delegated privacy.

But on the inside, her skin bore the faint scars of tiny cuts, each a marker of a day since he was ripped from her reach, and she knew each of them by heart, could discern what time, where, how; the first few were deeper, less controlled and orderly, than those following. And if she ran a finger over the raised flesh, she could still feel the bite of the metal of his knife gently dissecting her. She had to lock herself in his closet for five hours before she forced her conscience to let her quit.

On the outside, she could sometimes feel a ghostly touch stroking a finger through her hair, sending small tremors through her body that tormented her soul and left her yearning for more. It would end almost at the small of her back, that sacred place his sinewy hand would always linger when he affirmed his usually non-expressive passion for her, and she grieved over the loss of his fiery intensity.

But on the inside, her chest churned with a strange coolness, feeling empty and frigid from her depression. But it also simmered and convulsed with a heat so sultry she sensed it, wanted it, _needed_ it to consume her, pulling her down into a blissful hell. And she wondered if he would be there, waiting, once she escaped this purgatory.

Because once they finally met again, they would disintegrate into the blue and white-hot wings she always knew they invisibly possessed, free from any earthly cares and troubles, free to love openly. And it would be the most glorious reunion to happen since man rediscovered the ocean.

But for now, she sewed.

She sewed her aching muscles back into the agile things they once were. She sewed her shattered mind back into the clever intellect he hated admitting he admired. She sewed her cracked skin. She sewed her heart.

Because once they finally met again, she wouldn't be able to bear him seeing her like this, a carved husk of the person she used to be.

Because she knew he would rather see her stitched and sutured, scars flaunted proudly with her head held high enough he couldn't kiss her lips, than a dried out and destroyed shell that hid behind her anguish, so heavy it had absorbed the rest of her lonely days.

Because he would rather see a fighter than a prisoner.


	3. Perfect

**Author's Note: Kind of cheesy, but I wrote it in class in under an hour (I really should have been paying attention haha) plus I got bubbly with feels. **

**Happy reading!**

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He was not, Mikasa suddenly realized, everything she had looked for in a potential partner when she was younger. The way he looked, the way he acted, the way he spoke, her list could go on and on, and she frowned in slight annoyance at her brain's decision to bring this up _now_ of all times. But she sighed and lowered herself into a small chair as delicately as she could, and gave in to her mind's scrutiny. She reckoned she had enough time before they started calling for her.

First, the way he looked. The most easily deluded sense. When she had been a wide-eyed little girl, her mother would tell stories and fairy tales of their clan, always ending with a handsome and brave young man rescuing a kind woman, and she would listen in awe at the charming descriptors of this savior, her naïve mind immediately conjuring up a fantasy image of the most beautiful human being she could think of. He would be tall, she recalled, with honey blond hair a little darker than her father's, and her mouth quirked at the memory. His blue eyes would sparkle and twinkle every time he looked at her, and would never narrow and squint in frustration, but instead go wide with encouragement and optimism. And his body would be strong, strong enough to sweep her off her feet, yet able to hold their children so sensitively and carefully.

Second, the way he talked and acted. Proud and noble, he would hold his head high with dignity but not arrogance, satisfaction but not self-importance, and his words would be kind and sweet and never harsh, but cautionary if needed. He would whisper beautiful fragments of heaven in her ear when they hugged, and his voice would be like dark, smooth honey that dripped with love and warmth. Mikasa allowed herself a small chuckle at the irony, comparing this fictional young man to the flesh and bone she had managed to fall into.

_He_ was not any of these things. He was dark and broody, coarse and severe, rough and violent; certainly none of the traits parents encouraged their daughters to admire in a suitor, even if he was a most desirable man. And she supposed her parents would have agreed. _Safe is where he should keep you. And yet this man drags your life into jeopardy as often as he replaces the blades of his swords. Why do you let him, Mikasa?_ Her father's voice echoed indignantly in her head, and she bit back a few stray tears. Would he have been disappointed in her?

_I'm sorry Daddy, I…I can't help but love him. I'm sorry._

Mikasa shifted in the small chair, wringing her bare hands in slight guilt. _Yes_. _No_. _No? _She knew her parents would have supported her, stood by her, smiled and cheered for her, even though they wouldn't have approved of her choice. Because she knew they loved her unconditionally and wanted to see her content and lively on this day instead of dreary and morose._ You life is what **you **make it, and no one else_.

She heard Eren frantically call her name from somewhere outside her door, and she sighed in contentment, wishing her parents could see her on this day, the beginning of a new life. Straightening up carefully so she wouldn't disturb the elegant dress, Mikasa walked as gracefully as she could manage to one end of a long aisle where Eren waited for her, dressed in his very best, and he proffered his arm to her, whispering a verse of congratulations.

For the last time, she wondered if she was making the right choice, giving herself wholeheartedly to the man who waited for her at the other end of aisle, his mouth trying not to twitch into a full grin, belying his uncharacteristic bliss.

She cracked her mouth into a small giggle, all memory of that fantasy man from her childhood and innocent years dashed to the wind.

Levi was nothing she had wanted. But he was everything she needed.


End file.
